


So Just Hold Me

by Lapin



Series: Scars [1]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lapin/pseuds/Lapin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Azazel tells Janos the stories behind his scars. Janos is not quite ready to return the favor though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Just Hold Me

**Author's Note:**

> A/N In which I fulfill another prompt and attempt to give Azazel's scars some backstory.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with the Marvel corporation and express no ownership over it or the characters used. I profit in no way from this use.

“And this one?” Riptide's fingers traced over the large one that followed along Azazel's sternum curiously, his chin resting on the arm he had thrown across Azazel's ribs. His hair was still a mess from Azazel's hands, and he still had his shirt on, albeit unbuttoned and possibly ruined.

“Uh,” Azazel had to think hard to remember the exact details of that one. “That was many years ago. I was not even fifteen, I think.” His fingers tangled with Riptide's, remembering the exact curve of the now much-faded scar. “This one was from a blade. Serrated. Feel the edges of it, how they are not clean?”

“Mm-hmm.” Riptide agreed, the pad of his index finger pressing against it. “Why?”

Azazel shrugged. “I cannot always remember the old ones. Twenty years is a long time.”

“What about this one?” Now his fingers moved up, to Azazel's collarbone, where there was a knot of poorly-healed tissue.

“I broke the bone when I was about sixteen.”

“You broke it?” He asked, an eyebrow raised disbelievingly.

“Well, someone else broke it. My teacher. With a metal pipe. I did not dodge quickly enough. My jaw healed better.” The spot was almost ticklish, and he was relieved when Riptide's delicate touch moved away from it, to a round scar just a finger's length to the left.

“This is a bullet wound.”

“Yes.” Azazel confirmed. “I was seventeen. One of my teachers shot me.”

“Why would they do that? They could have killed you.” Riptide sounded indignant on his behalf, as though he could heal a hurt so long ago suffered just from anger.

“To teach me what the pain felt like. So that I would not be surprised. And no, they could not have killed me. врач was a healer. That was her mutation. Though she did let me lie on the floor for a few minutes, in agony. They would not heal me until I managed to move on my own. The scar, she left it as punishment, since it took me so long.”

Riptide studied him for a moment, dark eyes sympathetic, but Azazel wanted none of it.

“You notice Riptide, I have more bullet holes in me. It took me many times to learn that lesson, to stop feeling the pain. And there were times I was shot by my target.” He cupped the back of Riptide's neck, thumb moving up and down. “If I had not been taught to block the pain, I would have died one of those times.”

“I wish you had not lived that life though.”

“If I had not lived that life Riptide, I would not be who I am now.” Azazel reminded him. “And you like who I am now.”

“Hm.” He sat up, still straddling Azazel, and moved up so that they could kiss. “I do.” It was spoken against Azazel's mouth, sweet in a way he had never thought to expect of sly, sarcastic Riptide.

“You want to ask.” Azazel said, as Riptide pulled back, sliding back down so that his head rested on Azazel's chest. “You can.”

“You nearly put Von Roehm through a wall when he asked.”

“You are not Von Roehm.” Azazel insisted, though he did not know why. The facial scar, the one that had nearly robbed him of his left eye, was a sore point, and he did not much like the story that went with it. But the barrier that it seemed to represent now, the line Riptide was reluctant to cross, was more uncomfortable than that truth.

Riptide squirmed on top of him, settling himself in more comfortably. His bare legs were warm against Azazel's, skin smooth, unscarred.

“How did you get it?” Azazel let his fingers dip into Riptide's hair in a tender gesture, as he thought about an event that had taken place so long ago, when his own body was smooth and unscarred.

“When my teachers took me, I did not want to go. So on the first day, when the капитан told me to pick up the knife, I told her no. So she picked it up.” He felt Riptide's lips press against his chest. “She grabbed me by the chin, and sliced my face open.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.” The scar did not pain him any more, it was so old, but there were still times when he saw his reflection, that he wondered how his face would be different if he had just obeyed. “I never disobeyed the капитан again.”

“And what lesson was she trying to teach you?” Riptide asked dryly.

“To obey her. So you see, it was a very effective lesson.”

“I do not much like her methods.”

“She was a hard woman.” Azazel told him, almost defensively. “She did not know any other way, I think. You think the worst of her now, after you hear these stories, but she was not evil. She was a mutant like me, like you, and she wanted to teach me how to survive. She meant only well, I always think now.”

Riptide remained quiet, though he was not asleep. Azazel tangled their fingers together again, and for the first time, noticed the scars crisscrossing Riptide's hands, especially over his knuckles. His hands were beautiful, as was all of him, but there was a certain kind of swelling around the knuckles that Azazel knew all too well.

“Who did this to you? Broke your fingers?”

Riptide did not answer him at first, but neither did he withdraw his hand from Azazel's.

“You are lucky, perhaps.” Riptide said, finally. “That you can think your teachers only meant well.”

-


End file.
